


A New Philosophy

by ChristyCorr



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: M/M, Missing Scenes, POV Outsider, Pre-Canon, Spoilers for Book 6: Return of the Thief (Queen's Thief)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28125453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristyCorr/pseuds/ChristyCorr
Summary: Trust doesn't come easily in Attolia's court. Or: the story of a relationship in six wine amphorae.
Relationships: Relius/Teleus (Queen's Thief), background Attolia/Eugenides
Comments: 23
Kudos: 44
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	1. Relius

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jediseagull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jediseagull/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, jediseagull!
> 
> The title is a reference to this KoA quote:
>
>> _“That is over now, my friend. You have been elevated to a new rank, where you are trusted unconditionally. Don’t look so uncomfortable. I have learned that there is a flaw in your philosophy. If we truly trust no one, we cannot survive." She bent to kiss his cheek, then gathered her skirts and was gone. Relius was left behind in the quiet room, considering a new philosophy._   
> 

Relius looked up from a report on Mede genealogy as footsteps approached his rooms. 

He’d chosen this cramped little apartment in the palace, above all, due to its remarkable lighting and acoustics. He was never caught unawares here—and, as Attolia’s master of spies for nearly two decades now, there were very few things in life Relius loathed more than surprises. 

Even so, he did not know who this evening visitor was. The measured steps indicated this was no emergency, but Relius could think of no other reason someone would dare approach his rooms this late at night. Certainly none of his past dalliances would think of it. For one, his reputation as unavailable for prolonged attachments was well-established. He was scrupulous in informing every single one of them that such advances would be exceedingly unwise.

When he went to the door and opened it, he was met with the unexpected face of Attolia’s newest guard, Teleus. He seemed ill at ease, discomfort chafing at his usually impeccable posture.

“I’m sorry for the hour. My watch just ended.”

As openings went, it was unenlightening. Relius considered what his spies’ reports on Teleus had indicated so far: mid-twenties; veteran of two wars; reliable swordsman; no political affiliations; rural background; veteran father; stubborn to a fault, involved in occasional fights due to the same. Loyal. Well, they all seemed to be at first, of course, when they got to the capital. 

His own interactions with Teleus so far had been uneventful, just snatches of conversation in Attolia’s antechamber while waiting to be called inside. Nothing that could explain this.

“How can I help you, Teleus?”

He seemed to steel himself. “I’m not good at, at court games. But I’ve heard you…do this. I would be interested. If that’s a possibility.” He paused, visibly reconsidered, and added, “I’d be happy to just sit down and drink some wine, too. I find you interesting, that’s all.”

It was possibly the most inept proposal Relius had ever received, the sheer awkwardness so breathtaking it almost went all the way around to adorable. If this were artifice in service of a hidden agenda, Teleus must be a master thespian. 

Relius would need to have him followed very closely for the next few months. This was a worrisome development.

He smiled, not unkindly. “I’m flattered, Teleus, truly. I couldn’t possibly get involved with a member of the queen’s guard—it would be too big a security risk for Attolia. But wine sounds delightful. Would you like to step inside and have a drink?”


	2. Attolia

Few people had ever had the misfortune of witnessing the Attolian Secretary of the Archives visibly embarrassed. Such occasions tended to have a low survival rate for bystanders—for a number of reasons, not the least of which was Attolia’s limited tolerance for making a spectacle out of failure. But none of that applied in this case. Here, today, she was watching Relius’ discomfort with feline delight. 

A lesser man would’ve been squirming, or possibly weeping. Relius’ posture was stiffer than usual.

“Relius.” Attolia’s voice was very soft. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I have no concerns about the promotion of Teleus to captain of the guard. He is by all accounts loyal and trustworthy.” 

He delivered this in a level tone, his gaze steady on Attolia’s. But she had seen his hesitation, and he knew that. They were alone in her chambers. Attolia reached for her wineglass and drank, savouring the silky notes. She waited.

“Two years ago, Teleus propositioned me. It went nowhere. I had him followed closely for some time, but there was no indication that he was on anyone’s payroll.”

This, too, Relius delivered dispassionately, but she could see that something about the disclosure filled him with distaste. It couldn’t be the frankness, or his being squeamish in any way about discussing personal issues: if Relius had ever had such compunctions, he’d lost them before coming to court. Plus, he carried out all his affairs in full view of the Attolian court, almost flaunting his frequent assignations and how little they mattered to him, both for their protection and his own. He was no prude.

So either he wasn’t saying everything or he felt guilty about this for some other reason. Attolia’s amusement was starting to wear thin.

“Relius,” she repeated.

“I had multiple people tracking him and his closest acquaintances for months. I’m as certain as I can be.”

She suppressed a sigh. If this was how it had to be, fine. “Teleus doesn’t seem to have a reputation as a chaser.”

“No,” he answered. Too fast. “He has no known romantic attachments.”

Attolia watched Relius, and waited. His face betrayed nothing.

“And have you two grown close now?”

“We talk sometimes. Have meals, or drink some wine. Nothing much.”

She smiled. How remarkable. “You’ve made a friend.”

“No, I—” He visibly reeled in his instinctive denial. However much he might lie to himself, he seemed to draw the line at lying to his queen. “Yes, perhaps.”

“You’ll tell me if concerns ever arise.”

He didn’t bother looking offended. They had both seen too much; both their jobs had them one misstep away from the gallows at all times, and that was the tightrope they’d chosen to walk together. “Of course.”

Attolia dismissed him with a nod and went back to her amphora, her thoughts mapping out future scenarios. What would happen if Relius betrayed her, or Teleus? Would she be backing herself into a corner by placing her trust in two men who were already too close to each other for comfort? Would they watch each other for her or keep each other’s secrets?

But these were concerns for the future. For the moment, she was more convinced than ever that Teleus was the best choice. She had no idea how Teleus had made it through Relius’ formidable defences and managed to win his trust, but she needed to see for herself if this potential made him an asset or a liability to her.

And of course, she always swapped captains of the guard every year or two. This would be an excellent opportunity to observe and work out just how much of a problem this situation would become. Before she knew it, it would be time to pick a new captain for the rotation, and Teleus would be back to his old rank. He wouldn’t have a command post for long.


	3. Teleus

Given the many catastrophes surrounding the queen’s kidnapping and the attempted Mede coup, Attolia’s announcement that she would marry the Thief of Eddis and Nahusaresh’s escape, Teleus had no doubt that his posting was hanging by a thread. And quite rightly, too: he had made so many appalling mistakes in the past few days that his remaining a member of the queen’s guard, let alone its captain, would be almost unforgivable.

But then again, Attolia was making the most baffling choices today, so who knew what was coming next?

Since Teleus was done with his responsibilities for the day, such as they were amidst all the chaos, he allowed himself an hour for self-pity before bed. He fetched an amphora of wine from his cabinet. As he drank, he went over the failures of the past few days. He kept coming back to Attolia’s absurd upcoming nuptials. _How_ had this happened?

As if summoned by the scent of wine, Relius soon materialised at his doorstep. He looked elegant and put-together as always, but Teleus knew him well enough by now to see that he, too, was shaken by the day’s events. 

Relius poured himself a cup without waiting for the usual invitation. Their eyes met and, for a moment, neither knew where to even begin.

“The Thief of Eddis,” Teleus groaned.

“The Thief of Eddis,” Relius agreed, closing his eyes as if in physical pain. 

Relius was a lover of fine wine, and this vintage was nothing to scoff at—handpicked by Relius himself, from the famous Mose valley vineyards in Gant. And yet they both downed their cups in quick succession, and the ones that followed. What could they even say that would encompass this disgrace? And equally importantly—that wouldn’t constitute treason against Attolia, given her betrothal? How could they protect Attolia against her _king_?

“Did you know?”

Relius reached for another cup, and had to swallow that one, too, before responding. Teleus remembered that this would’ve been far from the first time that the Thief of Eddis had outsmarted Relius’ spy network. But if anyone in Attolia had had any chance of hearing whispers about Eugenides’ plan to kidnap the queen and seize the throne, it would’ve been the Secretary of the Archives.

“I had no idea.” 

It left Relius’ lips with a sigh, and Teleus could see how much it pained him to admit it. They would both regret this mistake for years, without a doubt—until Attolia managed to rid herself of Eugenides, at least. 

She would surely manage someday. They only had to survive that long, and find a way to help her make it, too.


	4. Costis

Costis made his way to the infirmary, under orders from the king to check up on Relius since the visiting Eddisians were making his usual nighttime strolls through the palace impossible. The former Secretary of the Archives was starting to heal, but his injuries were extensive. Costis had no idea when, if ever, he would be back to his former self.

A moment before he crossed the threshold, Costis noticed the sound of conversation inside the room and stilled. It was Teleus. At first, Costis was unsure whether to stay; he decided to wait and check whether he could overhear enough to give an honest report to the king on Relius’ health. He could see neither of them from his angle behind the doorway, so he didn’t feel like he was intruding too much. The king, he was certain, would approve of his methods.

“Poetry, yes,” Relius said in response to whatever Teleus had last said, though Costis could hardly imagine Teleus initiating such a topic. “I loved it when I was young, but it was one of those things I never had time for later on.”

Teleus let out a huff, and for a few moments, neither man spoke. 

Perhaps Teleus, too, found absurd the idea of Attolia’s erstwhile all-powerful Secretary of the Archives wasting time on poems, of all things. But then Costis thought about it, reflecting that Relius had never made a secret of his love for the arts. That wasn’t what had triggered Teleus’ reaction.

“I’ve never read much poetry,” Teleus volunteered at last, “but my mother loved it. She would often recite her favourite poems by Antinous or Tibullus.”

Relius seemed astonished. “Antinous? I thought his works were all lost.”

“I think it’s been in the family for a long time. I could get you a copy, if you like.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Relius’ voice was warm with genuine delight. “I’ve never read anything by Antinous.”

“I don’t remember much.” After a moment, Teleus recited, his voice tentative around the antiquated dialect, “bring an amphora / of Cleoboulos’s best / buy herbs of every kind / the most sweetly scented / while I idle through the day / awaiting you.”

There was silence for a long moment after this, so long that Costis started feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Should he go away and leave them alone? This was not the kind of conversation he’d planned to eavesdrop on. He had no intention whatsoever of overhearing his captain making romantic overtures to anyone.

“Teleus,” came Relius’ reply, rough and heavy, “that’s—a lovely poem.”

Costis turned tail and fled.


	5. Orutus

Baron Orutus was all too aware of the weight of his office, and the responsibilities it entailed. He had spent years working under Relius, and a few months under Hippias’ short-lived tenure; now the mantle had fallen on his own shoulders, and at a time of war no less—the country’s intelligence network had never been more vital. 

It never stopped being sobering, seeing the moment people realised they were talking to Attolia’s ruthless Secretary of the Archives. Relius had borne it with grace, using the trappings of courtly charm to obfuscate the terror of his reputation. But the job had broken even Relius in the end, just another plaything among many for empires to manipulate and toss aside; and the entire court had seen him put himself back together from tatters since then.

But Orutus could not afford a courtier’s luxury of looking at Relius’ softer grace of today and thinking: _harmless_.

For all that Relius gave every outward impression of having left his spymaster days behind him, he had clearly done no such thing. The king and queen of Attolia had declared him above suspicion by fiat and no Secretary of the Archives would defy such an order. Even so, the few notes that made their way to the woefully inadequate file on Relius were alarming, to say the least.

_The magus of Sounis was seen leaving R’s chambers after spending about an hour there. The content of their conversation is unknown._

_Multiple reports of an Attolian agent of unknown allegiance travelling to Ianna-Ir. Origin, purpose and identity unknown, but agent was reported to be “conspicuously Attolian” by multiple sources. He is known to have made contact with some of R’s established contacts on his journey to the Empire. Ordered by Attolia not to make further inquiries._

_Rumours of unnamed agents allegedly linked to R’s old personal network fostering anti-Attolia political unrest in Eddis. Annux is disinterested in pursuing culprits._

_Captain Teleus continues to visit R’s rooms several times a week, at various times of the day. Limited interactions in public. Teleus’ status in R's network unknown._

The breadth of Relius’ activities seemed to defy belief, in scope and ambition both. There was nowhere he wasn’t plotting something, in the Little Peninsula and beyond. If treasonous, his plans should surely be enough to topple Attolia and their allies thrice over. That, more than Their Majesties’ now-unassailable trust in Relius, helped convince Orutus of his trustworthiness. Either he was remarkably incompetent or he was loyal—and incompetent he wasn’t.

Despite that, Orutus couldn’t help but feel a lingering sour note every time he thought about the report on Captain Teleus. If Relius and Teleus were just friends—or more than friends, even; it wasn’t as if Relius’ reputation as an undiscriminating lover was a secret—why would they keep their association a secret? And just in case they were up to no good, conspiring together or worse, surely it wasn’t wholly outside Orutus’ purview to investigate the matter? Relius might be above suspicion, but Teleus was not. 

No. He had, in fact, been arrested for treason and pardoned almost alongside Relius.

The whole affair was enough to give any self-respecting Secretary of the Archives a headache. The fact that in this matter he was forced to work blindfolded and with a hand tied behind his back by order of his own queen made it feel more like an ever-present migraine.

And so it was that Baron Orutus found himself taking up a casual patrol schedule that would take him past Relius’ apartment at times guaranteed to coincide with Teleus’ near-daily visits. This was quite troublesome to arrange and required reports every quarter-hour from men posted to watch Teleus, but it was good practice for the more junior members of his corps.

Despite his best efforts, however, Orutus could catch no more than a glimpse of Teleus entering the room. If he heard anything, it was a brief knock and a greeting, no more; any conversation was too low or too far from the door to be overheard by casual passersby. Spying on them would’ve been easier, of course, had Relius not retained the same impregnable apartment-cum-office he’d had for all his years as Secretary of the Archives.

Orutus’ quest seemed hopeless, but impatience was not among his flaws. He persevered, certain that at some point the gods would smile upon him.

One night, as if by a miracle, Teleus stepped in and left a sliver of the door open. 

Orutus clung to the wall and reminded himself to breathe as he inched closer, one step at a time. Finally. Finally!

“You seem tired,” said Relius.

Teleus grunted. “Long day.” He sounded grumpier than his usual, which was a feat.

“Wine? Or bed?”

No more sound came from within the apartment. Orutus had no idea what was going on in there, but his brain was working through the implications of what he’d just heard. 

It _was_ just a tryst after all—and from the looks of it, not a new one. How long had this been going on? Teleus had never, to the best of his knowledge, had affairs within the palace. Was it because they had been together this whole time? Had they been hiding it from Attolia? 

What a horrifying thought. And yet far less horrifying than any of the alternatives Orutus had been contemplating all this time. This discovery didn’t exclude the possibility of a conspiracy being underfoot, of course, but at least there was a reason behind all these evening visits.

Suddenly, something clunked against a desk, probably a wine amphora. 

“Relius,” Teleus said, sounding petulant. 

“I can distract you,” Relius said in a silky tone of voice that Orutus had never heard him use before. 

Orutus decided he’d gathered enough intelligence for tonight.

He started to walk away from Relius’ chambers feeling lighter, his concerns far less pressing now. Perhaps he should assign fewer people to be on Teleus’ detail now. Maybe Orutus could make this a weekly patrol instead. Or biweekly, even.

From afar, he thought he heard Teleus chuckle and say something that sounded like, “Finally.”

But, well, that would make no sense. And he was too far away to be sure, anyway. Next week he’d learn more.


	6. Eugenides

In a rare moment of peace, Eugenides was in the queen’s garden watching Eugenia playing a complex counting game of her own devising with Pheris. The two of them could easily spend hours absorbed in their private world, Eugenia—like Hector—having learned her first signs before she could talk. It was fascinating to observe. 

If he'd asked, they would have of course included him in the game. But Eugenides would never blunder in when he could better enjoy it undetected from afar.

What a fascinating little human she was. Five years old and a whole personality already, how was that even possible? She could already come up with ridiculous excuses, climb trees and pretend she hadn’t, play her caretakers one against the other. Eugenides found it all uniformly delightful; Eddis just laughed and laughed; and Irene despaired of each and every one of them. 

Little Eugenia also loved fiercely and widely, spreading her affections far beyond those she was related to by blood. Her list of favorite people seemed to grow every year. Her brother Hector, of course, led the list, with Helen’s daughters not far behind. Both Irene and Eugenides worried about what would happen when Eugenia trusted the wrong person someday. But even though this fall was scarier than any he’d faced, there really was nothing he could do to prevent it; he just had to trust that their god would catch her.

Movement to his right caught Eugenides’ eye and he turned to see Relius and Teleus approaching, back from their trip. Pheris, too, noticed their arrival. He promptly ran to them with delight; Relius embraced him like a son and Teleus, less demonstrative but no less affectionate for it, clapped him on the back as they exchanged a brief update. 

Displeased with not having the attention of three of _her_ people, Eugenia joined in, latching on to Teleus’ leg as per usual and telling him about this month’s favourite pastime—handstands atop a trotting horse.

“Her Majesty must be ecstatic,” said Teleus, after greeting the king with a quick bow.

“It’s very exciting to have such a gifted daughter,” was Eugenides’ amused reply. He smiled at his daughter, who beamed back at him.

Relius and Teleus exchanged glances. They both knew what a handful both Eugenia and Hector were, and Eugenides figured they could well imagine how impossible it was for palace staff to balance Eugenides and Irene’s expectations for child-rearing. 

Relius said, “Fortunately, Her Majesty’s had plenty of practice.”

“Not just her,” said Eugenides, and took a sip of his wine, pausing for effect. Teleus and Relius just eyed him with clear apprehension. They knew this look. He stalled; opened the amphora; refilled his glass; drank some more. “I’m glad you’re both back. I look forward to hearing news of Kamet and Costis.”

“My king?” Relius asked, all deliberate politeness.

Eugenides wished Irene could be here for this, but she was in Eddis and anyhow, they’d long since agreed on this.

“We’ve decided to ask you two to be in charge of Hector and Eugenia’s education,” Eugenides said. “We know you’re retired, Relius, and that Teleus wanted to retire soon too, but there’s no one we can trust more, and there’s nothing more important than this.”

He watched it hit them, everything he wasn’t saying. _You’re family. Your family needs you_. Watched their gazes wander to Pheris, then to Eugenia. Watched the corner of Relius' lips curve in a smile, helpless. Watched Teleus watching Relius, still careful, even after all these years.

Eugenides knew down to his bones that his trust wasn't misplaced. He didn't doubt it for a moment. But he still had to ask; this mattered too much for him to make it an order. And when Relius' gaze returned to his king, already at peace with his new role and the challenges ahead, Eugenides had his answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the beta, septiemestar! ♥


End file.
